


wicked game

by xnowimnothing



Category: HIM (Band), Jackass (Movies) RPF, Viva La Bam RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing
Summary: That's when Ville knows for certain how the rest of the night is gonna go; that's when he knows Bam will follow him to his hotel room - and he will be the one suggesting it, too. May we spend the night together, Ville?“Can I be with you tonight?” Bam says; the question arises on a waning moan, the upteenth. All Ville had to do was brush his own full, chapped lips against his. Bam's just so easy - and Ville knows by now.
Relationships: Bam Margera/Ville Valo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	wicked game

Ville's watching Bam from behind the camera. He's not filming him, he's just sat on a chair a few feet from the cameraman in his backyard. 

There are many people, actually. Both behind and in front of the camera. Some are there to be filmed, end up on TV, some are there to make sure everything goes smoothly and no one gets hurt. 

Everything works perfectly, everyone moves and talks the way they're supposed to move and talk. A machine whose bolts are well screwed and cooperative. 

And then there's him. 

Ville's just observing, arms on the armrests, legs crossed and a cigarette between his lips. Ville's there, just observing, simply because he's in the US and Bam insists on seeing him every time he's in the US. 

Bam had to shoot his show today, but he couldn't wait so he just told Ville to come over. They'd have a drink together as soon as shooting was done, he promised. 

Certainly Ville isn't one to turn down a drink. 

Ville watches the machine, watches as someone talks to Bam when the camera isn't filming, watches as Bam grabs the skateboard and starts twirling in the air. 

Ville rests his back on the backrest and relaxes in his seat. Bam makes what he does with the skateboard look like a piece of cake, like the most natural thing ever, yet Ville knows that, was he ever to put a foot on one of those things, he'd fall down like a sack of potatoes. 

You need to have a gift for it - Ville doesn't think talent is the right word, but you have to be somewhat inclined. To just jump and slide and run with that wooden board under your feet as if gravity didn't exist, or as if your body didn't have any weight. To fly without being afraid to fall. 

Fear. Bam is clearly someone who got over many of his fears, at least he looks like someone willing to face them. How could he let himself go like that otherwise? 

Maybe it's a control thing. Bam is in total control of himself, of every fiber of his being as he jumps, and that's how he jumps so well. Years of practice allowed him to perfect every single movement and tension, and that's how he flies. 

Either that or he doesn't have any control at all. Bam lets himself fall, and every time it's a challenge, a bet, as if he told Death to come after him if it dares, and Death just never dared. An all-in in poker, complete with an amused and condescending grin on his face. 

Death lets him win every time. 

Of course Bam's not afraid. 

“Ville,” Bam says, lips curved into a toothy smile. The machine is disassembling, the shooting is done for today and each bolt goes away on its own, only to be back tomorrow. “Let me take a shower and I'll be right back, okay? I'll be quick.” 

Ville grins and nods, bringing the smoke to his lips. 

Bam's smile is always so genuine. 

Ville expects the others to join them, but when it's only the two of them in Bam's car, he's more than okay with it. Bam takes him to the usual pub in West Chester, the one where it's always too hot and where smoking is illegal, but the owners always make an exception for Ville because he's a rockstar. 

It's not very crowded, understandably so since it's a midweek night. Bam talks and talks, Ville doesn't know what about, he can't keep up with him. Yet the spark in his eyes is visible even in the dim lights of the pub and his laughter is contagious. You can't be in a bad mood when Bam is laughing like this, it's physically impossible. Especially so when you aren't sober, like now. 

Ville isn't a very methodical person, he likes the unpredictability of spontaneous gestures, he likes to be open to different possibilities; but some things need structure, and Ville is well aware of that. For example, when he has to write music for a new album, Ville needs to stay home alone, possibly in the bathtub, or sitting on the bed with an acoustic guitar in his lap. Another circumstance that needs predictability is when he hangs out with Bam, especially so if it's late, especially so when they're alone. 

It's not a praxis. It's just something that tends to happen frequently. 

Every time, Ville books an hotel, even though Bam and his family would be happy to house him - he's a close friend after all. Every time, Ville brings Bam to his hotel room, and his hotel room is where he's bringing him tonight as well. 

Nothing unusual. 

When they're sitting in Bam's Lamborghini in the pub's parking lot, the pub where smoking is not allowed, except for Ville, when the alcohol is still in their bloodstream but their head is starting to clear up; when Bam's sitting in the driver's seat but the car is off, when the only audible sound is the cars darting on the road just outside the parking area, the headlights creating white and red lines a few inches above the dark asphalt. 

When Ville looks into Bam's blue eyes, and Bam blushes so hard that, if Ville touched his cheek right now, he'd burn his fingers; when Ville just barely leans in and rests his lips on his, and a sigh escapes Bam's mouth as if he'd been holding his breath. 

That's when Ville knows for certain how the rest of the night is gonna go; that's when he knows Bam will follow him to his hotel room - and he will be the one suggesting it, too. May we spend the night together, Ville? 

“Can I be with you tonight?” Bam says; the question arises on a waning moan, the upteenth. All Ville had to do was brush his own full, chapped lips against his. Bam's just so easy - and Ville knows by now. 

*** 

Desperate. 

Desperate is the term Ville'd use to describe Bam in this moment, with his restless hands touching every accessible part of his body, his moans ripping through the dense air of the room, so dense Ville can barely breathe. 

Bam's desperate in the way he kisses him, not a chaste kiss like before, no, that was only the appetizer, or the bell, the signal, the trumpet sound telling Ville he'd have Bam for himself in a few minutes. No, not that kind of kiss, far from it, it's a kiss so deep and intense that Ville wonders if Bam is still his own person or if they're now fused together. A kiss where the tongue reaches the throat, Ville's tongue in Bam's throat, and farther; it's a kiss where Ville reaches farther. 

He could see his soul for how deep inside he is. 

They're both naked, Ville didn't register the moment when they undressed but they're both naked, immediately, suddenly. Bam's underneath him, Ville's hands as big as his face on the pillow on either side of his head. 

He can't escape. 

Not that he wants to. 

From below, Bam's blue eyes are begging him. Those blue eyes adore him and worship him and it's as if they're giving up all control to Ville right now. Here, take the wheel. Do whatever you have to do. I'll let you. 

Ville wonders if anything similar happens when he's skateboarding. If it's the same surrender, abandonment. 

If it's just so easy for Bam to let go of control. 

Bam's there, underneath his body, talking to him with his eloquent eyes but saying nothing. He's there waiting - willing to wait for Ville, patiently, but Ville knows he's anxious, he knows desire is starting to be painful. Ville knows because none of this is anything new. It's something that keeps repeating, and that they both love to death. 

When Ville penetrates him, it isn't very sweet. Bam doesn't expect him to be sweet, it's fine. A scream leaves his lips, and Ville can't help but smile at how willingly Bam is accepting this pain. 

The pain Ville himself inflicts upon him. 

But it's a transient pain. Soon it leaves room to pleasure, the same kind Ville's been feeling since the beginning. 

Ville pushes into him once and Bam brings his hands to his back. He pants, his chest rising and falling under Ville's. 

Then Ville pushes again, and again, and Bam's nails are pressed into his skin now, his groans lower and more breathy and his eyes closed. The sweat refreshes the area where their bodies meet, and Ville's hair tickles his cheeks with every thrust. 

Ville forces his eyes open in order not to miss anything that's happening under him. Bam is in total ecstasy, his body at the mercy of pleasure; his guard is down, he's vulnerable, open. Ville bites his own bottom lip and he's light-headed, as if all the alcohol from earlier was now making him drunk again. But he can't lose control, not now. 

“Come for me, darling,” is all he has to whisper to Bam's ear, with the lowest and sexiest voice he can manage, to make him decompose, reassemble, implode and explode. His cum is a warm spurt on his lower belly, and Ville waits, watches until any trace of the orgasm has disappeared from his blissful, relaxed visage. Only when Bam's done does Ville let himself go, eyes shut tight and mouth agape, with a weak moan that doesn't even reach his ears for how muffled the world feels right now. 

Ville lies down on top of Bam, rests his face in the space between his neck and shoulder, and stays there until his breathing is back to normal, Bam's fingers intertwined in his curls and his warm breath against his ear. 

**Author's Note:**

> title is a HIM song, originally by chris isaak
> 
> xnowimnothing.tumblr.com


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